


checkmate

by stop_breaking_my_heart_telltale



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: F/M, and follows the canon route, but it's fine, clem has only one leg, contest oneshot for katie [@bluebutterfly1], hello angst my old friend, hugo and isabel sulieman, louis and clementine are pretty cute, louis' parents are main characters here too, so unfortunately mitch will not be blessing us with his presence, there'll be some violence but most of the character death is from what happened in the game, this story features tongueless louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stop_breaking_my_heart_telltale/pseuds/stop_breaking_my_heart_telltale
Summary: After ten years of fighting and surviving their way through the apocalypse in search of their son, Hugo and Isabel Sulieman finally find Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth and are ready to reunite with Louis.[contest oneshot for @bluebutterfly1 and based on the prompt of tongueless Louis reuniting with his parents]
Relationships: Clementine & Louis (Walking Dead: Done Running), Clementine/Louis (Walking Dead: Done Running)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 92





	1. [thank you for calling ericson's boarding school for troubled youth]

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that I’ve worked on for a long time now. It was originally going to be a prize oneshot for @bluebutterfly1 after she won the contest I held back in December, but once I started writing it, I found that I had a lot more to say that couldn’t be kept condensed to a single short story without being annoyingly long or crashing Tumblr. 
> 
> That being said, I’ve split the oneshot into four parts and will be posting it as such on here and tumblr. Thank you for your patience with me, Katie, and I hope you and everyone else enjoy this story!

_“Good morning. Ericson’s Boarding School, Elaine speaking. How may I help you?”_

_“Yes, this is Hugo Sulieman. I’d like to speak to my son, Louis.”_

_“Of course, let’s see… Louis Sulieman… Alright, I’ll call him down. Please hold.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_..._

_“...Mr. Sulieman? Louis is currently in the nurse’s office.”_

_“What? Is he alright?”_

_“Oh yes, he says that he’s not feeling well. There’s a bit of the bug going around right now, but it’s nothing to worry about. Can I have him call you when Ms. Martin’s finished looking him over?”_

_“I’d rather speak to him right now, actually.”_

_“Well, it should only be another ten to fifteen minutes or so. We want to make sure he’s getting proper treatment for whatever he has. I’ll make sure he calls you right back. ”_

_“...Okay, yeah, sure. Have him call. He knows the number.”_

_“I sure will! You have a good day, Mr. Sulieman.”_

_“You, too. Thank you.”_

_\---_

_“Good afternoon. Ericson’s Boarding School, Elaine speaking. How may I help you?”_

_“This is Hugo Sulieman. I called this morning about Louis and he still hasn’t called me back. Is he feeling better?”_

_”...Oh, yes! I’m so sorry, it’s been such a busy day here! Okay, let me see… Louis Sulieman… Okay… room 2-A Scie- Alright, I’ll call him down for you. Please hold.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_..._

_“Mr. Sulieman?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“We’re currently… uhm, having trouble getting Louis down to the office. Can I have him-”_

_“Look, it’s an emergency- uh, a_ **_family_ ** _emergency.”_

_“Oh-”_

_“Please tell him that. I’ll hold.”_

_“Right-”_

_…_

_“...Mr. Sulieman?”_

_“He still won’t come down.”_

_“He’s in the nurse’s office. I’m sorry, I can-”_

_“Have him call me when he’s finished.”_

_“Right.”_

_“...”_

_“...Sir?”_

_“...Shit- uh, excuse me, I apologize- I just… tell him it’s important and to call home as soon as possible. The number is 917-346-4785. You have it in your records and he knows it, but when he tells you he doesn’t, just dial it for him. Please, it’s urgent.”_

_“Of course, Mr. Sulieman. I will. Have a good day, okay?”_

_“Thank you. You, too. Bye.”_

_\---_

_“Good morning. Ericson’s Boarding School, Elaine speaking. How may I help you?”_

_“Hi, Elaine, it’s Hugo Sulieman again. How are you?”_

_“Oh, I’m good, thank you! How are you?”_

_“Fine. I’m calling to let you know I’m flying in next Friday to pick Louis up for the weekend.”_

_“Alright, we can arrange that… Let me see- will he be back by the following Monday morning?”_

_“Yeah, I’ll probably drop him off Sunday night if everything goes smoothly. We may have to stay an extra night, but I’ll call and let you know if that’s the case. Will you let him know so that he can be ready when I get there?”_

_“Of course. Did you want to speak to him? I can call him down.”_

_“...No, no, that’s alright.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Yeah, I’ll talk to him when I get there. Thank you.”_

_\---_

_“Thank you for calling Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth. We are currently unavailable. Please call back tomorrow during open hours between 7:00 am and 5:00 pm, or leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible. If this is an emergency, please contact Headmaster Davidson at 681-782-1485.”_

_\---_

_“Thank you for calling Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth. We are currently unavailable. Please call back tomorrow during open hours between 7:00 am and 5:00 pm, or leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible. If this is an emergency, please contact Headmaster Davidson at 681-782-1485.”_

_\---_

_“Thank you for calling Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth. We are currently unavailable. Please call back tomorrow during open hours between 7:00 am and 5:00 pm, or leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible. If this is an emergency, please contact Headmaster Davidson at 681-782-1485.”_

_\---_

_“This is Richard Davidson, Headmaster of Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth. I’m not available at the moment. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thank you.”_

_\---_

_"We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again."_

_\---_

_"We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again."_

_\---_

_"We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again."_

**\---**

_"We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected-”_

The cellphone shatters against the cement wall, slivered shards of broken glass and electronic bits flying everywhere. With the blunt force follows a frustrated, miserable cry as Hugo Sulieman hunches over in defeat, face buried in sweaty palms, fingers raking through and tugging painfully at blood-matted hair. 

“Hugo!” 

“It’s the same damn thing!” he exclaims, whirling around, beginning a pace back and forth around the room. 

Stepping out of his way, a terrible mixture of panic and disbelief on her lovely face, Isabel gapes up at him. She rushes over to the phone, kneeling to examine the damage only to find that it’s broken beyond repair.

“I’ve called,” Hugo continues, “and called, and called again! Everything’s disconnected! I can’t get ahold of anyone! Not the school, not Richard, not Stephen or-or Louise! Not the house phone, _nothing_!”

“So what?” Isabel exclaims. “You thought breaking it against the wall would do the trick? That was my phone, Hugh! The _only_ phone we have down here! Now if they call us back, how are we-”

“They can’t call us back because everything’s disconnected! Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

Her dark eyes narrow, arms folded over her chest as she snaps back, “You’re screaming at me, so yeah, I heard you perfectly clear!”

“I’m not screaming at you!”

“Oh no? You’re not, huh? Excuse me, my mistake! I must’ve taken you raising your voice for screaming!”

“ _Don’t_.”

“What?” Isabel demands, clutching his arm in a vice grip, forcing him to face her. “Don’t what? Don’t be upset?”

“Don’t start-”

“Well, I’m sorry, Hugh, I’m not exactly thrilled to be stuck down here while those- those _things_ ransack and destroy the house above us!”

“Isabel-”

“And excuse me, if I’m upset because we can’t get ahold of that fucking school so I don’t know if Louis is okay or not, and now I may never know because you broke our only fucking phone!” 

Fury bounces off the walls, echoing through the bunker and creating a tension that even the sharpest of blades couldn’t hope to slice through. Isabel’s breaths come out in quick puffs. She has to squeeze her eyes shut and force evenness into her breathing before she passes out again. 

Hugo watches her helplessly, bones weighing him down as through the marrow were replaced with wet cement. He falls down in one of the chairs. Fluffy, comfortable and expensive, just like everything else he’d bought to occupy their fortified, underground bunker. 

He thought the idea of an underground bunker a waste of money, but after many nights spent watching the horrors that occupied the news channels, and from encouragement from his mother and co-workers, he had the basement transformed into the safest bunker money could buy. 

Just in case, he supposed, or rather, justified. Once finished, its purpose became a means of escape for him, a place he could go when he needed a break from work, from dealing with the construction of their new home, from Isabel and Louis.

A break from his family. God...

A break by himself to sit in that comfortable chair, put a classical record on the player that belonged to his mother before her untimely passing, and pick up a Tom Clancy novel from the overflowing bookcase. Relax after a long day at work and have a moment with nothing but contentment. 

Or, perhaps he’d play a game of pool against himself, or spend an hour on the phone with his mother discussing- or, in her case, gossiping- about his siblings and other extended families. 

On days when he wanted company, when Louis was in school or at his piano lessons, Hugo would find Isabel in the kitchen brewing a cup of coffee or flipping through his mother’s old recipe book. He’d approach her from behind, hands slipping around her waist as he whispered an invitation to join him down in their bunker. He had the extra cozy loveseat in the corner for a reason, after all. 

“Hugh,” Isabel pleads, having steadied her breathing. “What do we do? We can’t just stay here. We have to go get Louis!”

Louis...

On special occasions, Hugo would invite Louis down here with him. He didn’t like the idea of Louis sneaking around down there alone, figuring the boy would become too curious and end up hurting himself or find Hugo’s secret stash of cigars and ask his mother about them, so he was only allowed down here under his strict supervision. 

Not that Louis could break-in alone- well, that’s what he had thought at the time- with the door having a passcode to enter. 

That was a mistake on Hugo’s part. Not the passcode itself, but the underestimation of his son and his ability and determination to wiggle his way into places he shouldn’t be without getting caught. 

Hugo only every brought Louis down there to do one of two things: watch a movie in the theater room or play a few rounds of chess. 

“Hugh?” Isabel exasperates. “Hugo?”

Louis learned to play from his grandmother. Hugo was pleased to see him take such an interest in the game considering all the gaming consoles he usually occupied himself with. As he got older, he grew strategic, clever in his moves, and with that came Louis’ bets. 

_“If you win, I’ll clean my room. If I win… I get to take singing lessons.”_

Hugo only ever agreed to his silly bets because he knew Louis couldn’t beat him. 

Until he finally did. 

Mid-December, a Wednesday. School had been canceled due to the severe weather, so he and Louis, both in their pajamas and a plate of blueberry pancakes, sat in their theater and marathoned all three of the Back to the Future movies. Once they had their fill of Marty McFly and Dr. Brown, Louis begged to play a round of chess before dinner with the usual bet placed on the table. 

The shit-eating grin Louis wore when he checkmated him was one that Hugo wished he could’ve captured, along with the sight of his own jaw practically scraping the floor, he’s sure. 

An eleven-year-old beating him at chess… Hugo should’ve been ashamed, but how could he when watching his son- his only son, God- jump up from his seat and do his victory dance while chanting, _“Yes! Yes! Yes!”_

That pride swelled in his chest like an overblown balloon, only to pop when Louis pointed at him and claimed, _“I won, so now I get to take singing lessons!”_

“Hugo!” Isabel snaps her fingers in his face. “Where’d you go?”

Her gaze burns as she waits for a reply but gets none. 

_“Dad, I want to be a real musician.”_

Hugo has nothing left to say.

“Hugh, listen to me. We have to go get him.” 

Inhaling deep, air sweetened with the scent of spicy apples emitting from the automatic air freshener, Hugo sighs. Wiping his forehead, wincing at the press against his bandaged wound, he stands from his chair to take several unsteady steps towards Isabel. 

“We can’t just go up there,” he says, motioning towards the ceiling.

“Why not?” 

“Isabel,” he stops her, “we don’t know how many broke in, or if they’re still up there-”

“I haven’t heard anything for a few hours! They probably all left!”

“You haven’t heard anything thing because you won’t be quiet,” Hugo sighs. “But, I can. The ceiling- it creaks like someone’s walking around up there.”

“Oh, bullshit-”

“Isabel, if one of those things grabs you? You’re done. You saw what they can do.”

“I know! I don’t care- they _won’t_! I won’t let them grab me. I can’t just sit here and wait it out! Not when Lou is out there scared out of his goddamn mind or-or-!” Isabel takes a gulp of air, squeezing her eyes shut before shaking her head. ”Maybe it isn’t bad there. Maybe the school’s okay and it’s safer there for us anyway.”

“If that’s true, then why not pick up the phone?” Hugo argues weakly. “Why is the line disconnected? Why is the power out? Why is nothing working?”

“Maybe it’s a problem on our end, I don’t know! All I know is that I’m not sitting around here for another day while Louis is still out there! God, we should’ve just- just gone straight there when we had the chance! As soon as we saw it!”

“There were too many of them,” Hugo says. “There’s no way we would’ve made it out of town, not with traffic and all those things roaming around.”

“We could’ve flown!”

“No pilot would take us anywhere. Not in this mess.”

“Then I’d fly the damn thing!”

“You know how to fly a plane?” Hugo raises a brow. “Or a jet? Or anything?”

“No, but I could’ve figured it out!” Isabel throws her hands up, stomping her foot. “They have manuals!”

“And you’d be patient enough to read it?” Hugo almost smiles at the glare she shoots him, picturing her kicking the pilot out of a private jet to fly herself, both of them arguing as the plane wobbled around in the air through the city and all the way to West Virginia. 

Hugo shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” 

Isabel pauses her pacing, back towards him as she runs her manicured over bloodshot, swollen eyes. She’s shaking, whether in rage or fear or something else, Hugo doesn’t know. 

“Unbelievable,” she whispers. “Un-fucking-believable.” 

A scolding builds in his throat, a _“Language, honey,”_ as if he had a real reason to say it. Force of habit, even now, even after everything. 

Hugo heads towards the bar, paying the glass tank that lay there a glance. 

Geoff is still, beady eyes narrowed as the turtle watches him. Hugo glares back.

When the news of the dead spread, Isabel drove over in a panic. Those things broke into the apartment complex she lived in, she saw the damage they left when they got a hold of someone. 

She burst in, jacket torn and hair a mess, speaking frantically and demanding to know where Louis was. Once they got her breathing under control, she helped him secure the door, then ran upstairs to Louis’ room despite Hugo’s protests. She gathered every photo, notebook, every piece of clothing she should shove into a piece of carry-on luggage, and finally, Louis’ pet turtle, Geoff. 

Hugo was never a fan of Geoff. Since the day they brought him home from the pet store, he always looked at Hugo like he could see straight through all of his bullshit, could pinpoint what his every downfall amounted to, and thought himself better than Hugo. Condescending, arrogant little shit. 

It’s all in his head, he knows, but look into Geoff’s eyes long enough and it’s there- the _judgment._

Except when Louis was around. The damn turtle loved Louis as much as turtles can possibly love. Geoff had no choice but to love him with the excessive amount of strawberries and fresh greens Louis fed him every day. 

Louis loved Geoff to pieces, too, so Hugo tolerated the judgment from the turtle for years. It wasn’t until they sent Louis away that Hugo considered getting rid of him, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

If Louis hated him now, he may never talk to him again knowing that he’d given Geoff away, or threw him as bait to escape the horde of dead coming for them. 

A tempting idea, that one. 

Ignoring the bastard turtle in favor of digging through the mini-fridge under the counter, Hugo pulls out a half-empty bottle of blackberry merlot. It's icy against his fingertips and he’s briefly glad to have had a backup generator installed down here. 

He considers briefly snatching a cigar from under there as well but doesn’t. Not in front of Isabel. 

He unscrews the cap, inhaling the sweetness of the alcohol with a watery mouth.

“You’re not serious,” she glowers at him. “Not right now.”

“Neither one of us is leaving tonight,” Hugo pours them each a glass, motioning for her to sit. “We’ll wait ‘til morning and see if they’ve cleared enough for us to gave everything we need and get to the car, then we’ll go from there.”

“And if they haven’t? You’re going to just sit there while our son is out there? I don’t care what you do, Hugh, but-”

“I said we’ll go from there,” he says pointedly. “If you go up there now, you’ll die. For now, sit down and quit making so much noise.”

She hesitates, gaze darting to the thick, metal double doors separating them from the real possibility of death. She wants to argue, Hugo can see it in the way she bites her bottom lip, but weariness gets the best of her. Sitting beside Geoff- who _doesn’t_ fix _her_ with his disdainful gaze- Isabel accepts the glass of wine, taking a tiny sip with a sigh. 

“This is wrong,” she murmurs.

Exhaustion shows itself in the way she leans against the counter, wine in one hand and forehead in the other. Her distraught is worse than Hugo’s ever seen. Worse than it was prior to their divorce. 

That thought’s painful enough that he downs the rest of his wine with little effort. 

Fear’s overpowering the bitterness between them and he knows it. That burning question dangling in the air, begging to be asked, and Isabel takes the bait. 

“What if something happens because we aren’t there?” Isabel murmurs into her glass, covering up the crack in her voice by clearing her throat. Hugo can see it in her eyes, the sorrow seeped in wetness, threatening to spill over with every word she speaks. “What if it _is_ bad there and he needs us? If we stay down here, he might get hurt or trapped or- or-” 

Or killed. 

Bitten by the dead. 

Turned into one of them. 

His Louis as a walker…

_“Please, please, dad! You never have to do anything for me ever again! All I want are singing lessons! I’ll even quit playing the piano if I have to! And baseball! I’ll quit everything! Please!”_

“Ericson is a good school,” Hugo says slowly, “and Richard is an honorable man. He and his staff will do everything they can to keep Louis and the rest of those kids safe.”

Geoff cranks his ugly neck to look- no, _glare_ \- at Hugo as if to ask, _“Do you truly believe that, you old fool?”_

Hugo _wants_ to believe it. 

The day he walked Louis through the gates of Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth, Richard Davidson was there to welcome them. He swore to Hugo that he and his staff would do everything in their power to help Louis through this stage he found himself in… to understand what he had done that brought him there. 

_“Because you get to be happy, or you get to be rich! You can’t be both!”_

“And the school is in a good area- a _safe_ area.”

“As safe as this bunker? Do they really have the means to care for all of those children in a mess like this?” she asks. “We shouldn’t have sent him away in the first place.” 

Hugo finishes off his second glass of wine, pouring himself another as he refuses to meet Isabel’s accusatory lower. 

“Little late for that now.” 

A fist slams against the wooden bar, Isabel’s glass nearly cracking under her fixed grip. For a moment, Hugo considers crawling under the counter, knees to his chest and face hidden in his arms, hidden away from Isabel’s growing contempt for him, from the dead and the outside world, from Geoff and his judgemental, beady eyes. From the memories of the last time Louis ever looked at him as Hugo left him in the lobby of Ericson. 

He could crawl under there and pretend everything is the way it was last year before his family broke apart.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he polishes off his another glass of wine, ignoring the way Isabel shakes her head. 

“We could’ve figured something else out,” she says. “We didn’t have to send him away like that.”

“And what would you have suggested we do instead?” he asks. “Go to family therapy? We didn’t have any other choice.”

“We could’ve not sent him to that damn school!” 

It wasn’t that easy, and she knows that. Hugo knows that. 

Mom knew that. The entirety of the family knew it when they heard. 

This argument is nothing but a mere beating of a long-dead horse at this point. 

“Ericson was the best option. They specialize in that sort of thing. Stephen said I should’ve sent him to a military school.”

Disgust crinkles her nose as she pointedly rolls her eyes, sneering, “ _Military school_.”

“I didn’t want to send him away,” Hugo says. “But we had to.” 

“I told you that _I_ didn’t want to, though,” Isabel stresses, “and you ignored me!”

“And if I listened to you? Then what?” he asks, pouring yet another delicious glass of merlot. “We ground him? Ruffle his hair and call him a little rascal? Forget about the divorce and get him some damn singing lessons?”

Heels tap against the cement, quick and rhythmic with every bounce of her leg. Hugo takes her glass away, downing it himself with a grunt.

“That’s all he wanted,” Isabel finally says, standing from her stool. “Why didn’t you-”

“ _Because_ ,” Hugo interrupts as if that single word held all the answers needed.

“God forbid he learned to sing.”

It all seems so stupid now. The notion of Louis confessing his desire to grow up and be a real _musician_ being the worst thing Hugo’s ever heard. Years back he was even hesitant about letting him learn to play the piano, but gave in once his mother chewed him out. 

_“A talented boy his age must learn to play an instrument! And the piano is as lovely as it is classical, Hugo! If you don’t book him lessons with Sonia, I will!”_

That was the end of that conversation. His mother and her views of music were what gave Louis the idea that he could become a _musician_ as if he could make a proper name and living for himself by singing and playing the piano. 

_“Grandma said I could do it, Dad! Please? If you love me, you’ll let me take singing lessons!”_

Now it all just seems… meaningless. A waste to be so worked up over some so stupid...

“I’m leaving in the morning, with or without you,” Isabel says, tone firm and Hugo knows there’s nothing he could possibly say to change her mind. “I can’t stay here another night. I’ll go crazy.” 

Grimacing at the churn of his stomach, head becoming queasy, Hugo finishes his final glass of blackberry merlot. Geoff glares at his hand, and Hugo’s tempted to flick the turtle in his ugly eyeball.

“Getting yourself killed isn’t going to do Louis any good,” he tells Isabel, speaking slow as to not slur his words. “You’re not going alone.”

“Then help me.”

“We need to be smart about this. Going up there without a plan is a sure way of dying, and we can’t get to Louis if we’re dead.”

Hugo watches the remaining wine slosh around in bottle for a moment before sighing deep within his chest. Isabel reaches across to grip his hand, the first contact they’ve had that didn’t happen because they were trying to get away from the dead. 

“We gotta stick together,” Hugo says. “Okay?”

He looks to her finger, the wedding ring she wore for years missing. He forgot to grab it from his bedroom drawer along with his ring. There’s no time to do that now, he tells himself. If the house is safe to move through tomorrow morning, they’ll only have enough time to gather any supplies they’ll need- food, water, batteries, extra clothes, blankets- his head’s a buzz with thoughts drowning in sweet alcohol. 

“Okay.”

That night, Hugo and Isabel Sulieman slept the best they could. 

In the morning, they left the safety of their underground bunker, snuck to their parking garage, and loaded up their SUV with all their supplies. Risking everything to venture out onto the streets, they drove in hopes that they could make it out of state and towards Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth, both with silent prayers that they would make it in time to hold their son again.


	2. [ten years later]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)

###  **\--- 10 Years Later ---**

Today is important.

It’s crucial. 

Everything is riding on today. 

Today is the day Tennessee proves himself.

And no matter how many times he rubs his hands against the dirty denim of his jeans, his palms remain unbearingly humid despite the chill in the air. They tremble in such a violent way that he can hardly hold his bow. He curls them into fists to control the shaking, mouth murmuring encouraging words meant only for his ears. 

Today marks the first time Tenn will venture outside the walls of the school and hunt all by himself- well, Rosie will be with him since the number one rule is to never actually go alone, but Rosie’s a dog, not another person, so technically, it’s like he’s going alone. Sort of. 

He’s planned for this day for months, nearly a year. Archery and gun lessons, hunting techniques and trapping, and overall, survival- with AJ’s help, Tenn now feels confident that he can go on a hunting trip by himself without any trouble. 

He’s going to be smart and bring home dinner and make everyone proud. 

He will make AJ proud. 

Tenn swallows, though with how dry his mouth is, that only serves to make him more uncomfortable. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and counts to three, for forward then backward.

One, two, three… three, two, one… one, two, three…

“You’re okay,” he says, stretching out his fingers as he counts. “You can do this.” 

He can do this. AJ believes he can do this, and so does Clementine, and Louis, and Ruby, and everyone else. 

Well, Aasim had his doubts, but Tenn’s learned to not take offense to everything Aasim says.

“You can do this.” 

Tenn grabs the arrows from his desk, secures a knife to his belt right next to the walkie talkie, and slips on his backpack. All ready to go, Tenn finds himself hesitating in the middle of his dorm room. There are several things that could go wrong, plenty that he could screw up, and like a tidal wave they all crash against the shores of his mind. 

He knows he’s being dumb. It’s not like this is his first time hunting or scavenging. He’s gone with AJ and Aasim several times, and even a couple times with Louis, and nothing bad ever happened.

Unless he counts the time a trap malfunctioned and caught Aasim, but that wasn’t Tenn’s fault, and it was funny to see Aasim hanging upside down like that. No one got hurt, aside from Aasim’s pride. 

“You can do this.” 

Tenn leaves the comfort of his dorm room and ventures outside. The morning air is sweet, chilly, even. Frozen dew still sticks to the grass and covers the tables. When Tenn lets out a puff of air, it’s visible in a thick fog around him. Tenn swings his back around, unzipping and digging around for the hat Ruby gave him. 

It won’t be like this later. They’re in the weird part of spring where it’s too cold in the morning, but come noon, the sun will heat the earth and melt all the frost. 

Tenn looks forward to seeing the sun today. 

Omar’s moving about, gathering chunks of wood to split. He waves over at Tenn but makes no move for conversation, instead picking up his ax. Tenn doesn’t mind, so he waves back and allows Omar to go about his business. 

Louis is up on watch, leaning against the edge with a blanket wrapped around him. It’s odd seeing him up there. Usually, he talks his way out of the morning watch, opting for night shifts with Clementine. 

His hands begin to tremble again, so Tenn tells himself in a low voice, “You can do this.” He repeats it even as he approaches the gates. 

However, just as he’s about to push through, quick clapping from above breaks his concentration.

Louis grins down at him from his spot.

“Hey, Louis,” Tenn greets, voice wavering slightly. He clears his throat and tightens his grip on the strap of his bag. Louis waves to him before holding up his pointer finger. 

Tenn moves around to watch Louis climb down with a huff. He nearly trips over his blanket, seemingly forgetting that he had himself tangled in it while in his hurry to get down. He pulls an exasperated face at the offending blanket, one that makes Tenn smile, which in turn makes Louis smile. 

_‘You leaving?’_ Louis points to the gate. 

“I’m going hunting today,” Tenn nods, quickly adding, “by myself. Just me.” 

Louis hums, grinning. He reaches for Tenn’s trembling hand and pulls something from his coat pocket, placing it in his palm. 

It’s a granola bar. S’mores, the kind with the tiny marshmallows in it. Tenn’s favorite. 

There’s a sticky note attached reading, _‘In case you get hungry. Be careful and be SAFE. You’re going to do great, buddy!’_ with a goofy smiley face beside it, silly enough to make Tenn’s smile grow. A warmth surges through him, confident and buoyant. 

“Thanks, Louis.” 

Louis tugs the beanie upon Tenn’s head down more snugly over his reddening ears before giving him a thumbs up. The urge to step forward and hug him overwhelms Tenn, but he doesn’t act on it. Sometimes Louis gets weird about stuff like that, and Tenn doesn’t want to make him feel bad after he did something nice for him. 

“You’re out here early,” Tenn says. 

Louis rolls his eyes, giving a sign that takes Tenn a moment to remember it’s meaning. He has a sign for each of them, all unique, but sometimes Tenn gets them confused. His sign isn’t as good as AJ’s or Clem’s, he’s embarrassed to admit, but he can usually pick up on enough to figure out what Louis is saying. If not, Louis always carries a pen and small notebook to scribble on. 

“Aasim?”

Louis nods, adding, _‘Ruby needs help.’_

“That makes sense. Greenhouse?”

_‘Yes.’_

“Okay, well, I’m going to go now. To hunt, and maybe fish. I don’t know yet,” Tenn says, glancing back over to the gates. “Don’t get too cold, okay?” 

Louis grins, soft and fond. He twists around and whistles, and barely a couple seconds later, Rosie’s trotting over to them, her stubby, excited tail wagging and ears perked. She barks, sitting down beside Louis as he pats her head and scratches her ears. Louis turns back to Tenn, a brow raised.

Tenn smiles, clapping his hands two times, saying, “C’mon, Rosie. We’re going hunting.”

At that, Rosie jumps to her feet and hurries to the gates. Tenn remains where he is, eyeing his companion and the daunting gates with a hesitation he wishes he could knock right out of himself. The wrapper of the granola bar crinkles when he tightens his grip.

_‘You’re going to do great, buddy!’_ the note reads. 

He can do this. 

Louis pokes Tenn’s forehead with a grin. 

“I know,” Tenn says. 

_‘Be safe.’_

With bow in hand and a nervously beating heart, Tenn leaves Louis and Castle Violet with a final, reassuring smile and heads through the gates. He’s greeted by the same woods that are always there, though this time they have this delicate frost covering their usually harsh and green features. Everything’s still, silent. The loudest thing echoing through the trees are his footsteps and his heartbeat. 

“You can do this.”

Today is the day Tennessee proves himself.

\---

These woods hold more than just walkers and animals.

Thomas discovered that last week when he spotted a couple of kids setting up traps. How they’ve managed to survive this long, he has no idea, but he does know that they gotta have a hideout. There’s no way they’re out here living in these woods. A walker would’ve nabbed ‘em by now. 

There’s gotta be more of ‘em, too. 

He still kicks himself for losing track of the two kids. If he’d been quicker with the walkers that came sneaking up on him, he could’ve followed those kids right to their hideout. 

But maybe not all hope is lost. 

Thomas watches the couple from afar as they mosey around the old, abandoned train station. They’re older, much older than the kids he saw. Usually, he’d ignore ‘em and go about his business, or take care of ‘em if he needed to, but then he overheard ‘em. 

They’re looking for a school, and now, things are making sense. 

This time, Thomas doesn’t let ‘em out of his sight. 

This time, Thomas follows ‘em through the woods and down to the river, by the wreckage of an old, decrepit boat. 

\---

“Geoff says no.” 

“Geoff doesn’t get a vote.”

“He’s apart of the group. He gets a vote and he votes no.”

“The _turtle_ doesn’t get a vote because he is, as I’ve stated numerous times before, a _turtle_.”

“A turtle with thoughts and feelings and the ability to see that this is stupid and a waste of precious time.”

Hugo glances at the turtle and his dark, narrowed eyes. 

Judgemental little shit. 

“Funny how he always seems to side with you.” 

“He knows I’m right,” Isabel smirks, offering Geoff a bite of her stale granola bar.

“When he learns how to hunt for us, or fight off the walkers, or do anything but take up valuable resources, then he can have a vote. Until then, Geoff gets to shut his trap.”

Geoff eagerly gnaws a piece off, a glare still fixated on Hugo as he chews. 

He’d be lying if he said he was happy to see the elderly turtle survive ten years into the apocalypse. Bringing Geoff along has brought them -actually, mostly Hugo- nothing but distress, having to keep the turtle fed, lugging him around in moments of extreme danger. It’s a damn miracle they haven’t left him somewhere, or that he hasn’t died, or that they haven’t eaten him. 

He suggested that once. Hugo’s cooking skills were admittedly lacking, but he’s confident that he could make a mean turtle stew and enjoy every minute of it. 

Isabel nearly took his eye out for that one, so Hugo scrapped the idea.

Even now, he has nightmares about waking up one morning to find Geoff devouring his leg or biting his nose off. Still, Isabel insists that they keep him along for moral support, of all things. 

That, and for Louis. For when they find him. 

Louis…

Ten years. 

It’s been ten years since they saw Louis, since they’ve spoken to him or knew if he was even alive. Once the first week of their escape from the bunker became a month, then six months, and eventually a year, hope for ever seeing their son again had plummeted. 

_“Listen to me. I don’t want to ignore this anymore- I can’t keep talking like this! It’s driving me mad and I just- ...what if we make it to the school and it’s… bad?”_

_“Don’t say that.”_

_“I need you to face the very real possibility that if we find Ericson-_

_“_ **_When_ ** _we find Ericson.”_

_“...Fine, when we find Ericson, we might find Louis and-”_

_“Hugo-”_

_“-and he might not be-”_

_“I don’t want to hear it-”_

_“-alive. What if he’s not alive?”_

_“He is alive! He’s got to be alive! You said it yourself! Those people would keep those kids safe so Louis has to be safe!”_

_“Unless something happened. He might be one of them and we-”_

_“That’s enough!”_

With the increasing amount of walkers, nasty people going rogue and killing more of the living than the dead, and limited food, water, and clothing resources, Hugo and Isabel Sulieman nearly gave up. 

That wasn’t in the stars for them, though. 

_“I don’t want to think about it either, Isabel, but I can’t help it. I can’t keep going like this with this-this blind_ **_hope_ ** _that he’s safe and sound and still waiting for us! What if he’s a walker? Or, what if the school’s abandoned? I need us to be on the same page! The odds of Louis still being alive? They’re slim. They’re so goddamn slim and if we keep going and eventually find the school? I need to know that we can still make it even if he’s not there. Or, if he is there and one of the dead.”_

Hugo and Isabel survived, wandering through empty towns, killing walkers and hunting for their own food, despite Isabel’s protests in the beginning. Never did they think they’d have to skin and cook their own food, and without any spices to flavor the dull meat. 

From New York, to Pennsylvania, to New Jersey, through Delaware and into Maryland, they’ve traveled. Sometimes with others, but rarely. Most groups meant trouble, they learned that one quick after they travelled with a group in the beginning. One of the men got bit and kept it hidden from the rest until it was too late. When more than half of them were dead, a couple turned on them, taking nearly all their supplies and running off in Hugo’s SUV, leaving Hugo and Isabel and two others to die. 

At least they’d been decent enough to toss Isabel’s bag of Louis’ clothes and photos, seeing no use for them. 

Dangers that others brought with them was something they needed to avoid as much as possible if they were going to make it to West Virginia, to Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth. After that first betrayal, they swore they’d never do it again. They had each other and that was more than enough. 

So much death and destruction witnessed and experienced. The worst humanity has to offer, a world of kill or be killed. Just like with shooting a gun, Hugo never thought of a lifetime where he’d have to take another's life under any circumstances, but he has. They both have, more than once. A cruel, dark world they’ve ventured through in search of that one speck of light, of happiness. 

Their son, Louis.

All the while, Geoff found himself a snug home within Isabel’s backpack, only ever emerging when they found a safe place to settle for the night and eat. Not a care in the world for the danger that lingers all around them. What a life _that_ must be. 

It doesn’t matter now. They’re close, and Geoff can fuck go himself, Hugo thinks. 

_“I have to know, Hugh.”_

_“I know.”_

_“I have to know what happened… even if he’s not there or not… not himself.”_

_“I know. Me, too.”_

They’re so damn close. They have to be. After ten years of searching and getting held up, they crossed the border into West Virginia, one more step closer to finding Ericson. 

“Hmm? What’s that?” Isabel leans down, tilting her head towards Geoff. “We should make him sleep outside tonight?”

“Belle,” Hugo warns.

“I know he’s a mean, old man, but that’s no reason to be so cruel, my friend. He’ll freeze to death.” 

“You and that damn turtle,” Hugo sighs. 

Lifting his binoculars, he can see the wreckage perfectly. Remains of a boat scatter across the shore, seemingly untouched. A few walkers roam around with little purpose, nothing they can’t handle. Hugo’s become well acquainted with the hatchet on his belt and the handgun in his bag, skills he never dreamed up picking up years ago but thankfully, he’s a quick study. 

“Looks abandoned.”

“Of course it’s abandoned. No one’s going to mess around with a shipwreck like that. Looks like someone blew it to hell.” 

“I mean, I don’t see any signs of anyone around. Some walkers, but that’s it. Part of it’s washed up on land. It’s worth looking through.”

“For what? Soggy supplies?” Isabel sighs. “It’ll be dark soon. I say we loop around and go back to the train station for the night.”

“It’s barely afternoon, and that place is picked apart.”

“Yeah, but there’s a mattress,” Isabel says. “And a crib for Geoff to sleep in.” 

That gets Hugo’s attention.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Isabel rolls her eyes. “Geoff’s sick of sleeping in the bag, and I’m sick of sleeping outside. And your leg-”

“My leg is fine.”

“It won’t be if you keep overworking it,” Isabel says. “All jokes aside, I’m not carrying your ass back.”

“So you say.”

Isabel sighs, glancing around. With his back still turned to her, Hugo can feel the anxiousness wafting off of her.

“Look,” she says, “if we’re as close as you think we are, then we gotta find a map or something, get our bearings and go from there.”

“I agree,” Hugo says simply. “After we check out the boat, we’ll do just that.” 

“Ericson is our number one priority, not that boat.”

She’s right, but the main problem they’ve run into is actually finding Ericson. Going based on memory alone, Hugo believes they’re close, but can’t decipher just how close. There are no signs leading to the school, nowhere to lead them in the right direction. Finding the train station was a stroke of luck out there. It gave them a starting place, and surely, it had a map that could lead them to Ericson’s gate. 

However, who knows how long it will take to locate and travel there. 

“It could still be days before we actually find it. We still need food to live, so unless Geoff is on the menu for the next few nights, we’re searching the boat. It’ll only take a minute.” 

The warmth of her glare burns into his back, but Hugo’s grown used to conflict like this with her. Along with many of the things he never thought possible within this world, he and Isabel actually sticking together through it all still manages to surprise him. 

He loves that woman with every fiber of his being and he’d die protecting her, and he knows she feels the same way. Somewhere along the journey, they no longer stuck together with the only purpose of survival and pursuit of their son, but because that love somehow rekindled, despite everything. 

Different. Hardened, even. But, love all the same. 

“You’re sleeping outside tonight.”

“Come now, love,” Hugo smirks back at her. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” 

“It ran off with your prudence.”

“Scandalous.”

Despite herself, Isabel smiles. 

“We’ll be quick?”

“Quick as lightning.”

Popping the final bite of granola into her mouth, Isabel scoops Geoff up, saying, “C’mon, buddy, maybe we’ll find you a fishy friend down there or something.”

“We should let him roam for a bit. I’m sure he misses the water.”

“Nice try, but no,” Isabel says, slipping Geoff into her bag. He protests little, happy to fall into another slumber or do whatever it is that he does in there. 

Hugo doesn’t care what he does. The only thing he cares about right now is finding food and other supplies that may bring him one step closer to finding Ericson, and if he has to dig through the debris of an old, wrecked boat, then so be it. 

\---

Clementine runs her thumb over the defeated, black pawn in her hand, finding a chip in its head. The fingers of her other hand tap along the table, anxious and rapid. Perhaps the soft noise will serve as a distraction. 

Louis isn’t bothered by the tapping in the slightest. No, rather he seems amused with that small smile of his as he glances over the board. Opposite of her, Louis sits relaxed, leaning forward with his chin in his palm and a light hum vibrating in his throat. 

It’s almost infuriating. 

Here she is waiting in great anticipation for him to checkmate her, silently hoping that by some miracle, this won’t be her third loss in a row. Clementine tries to follow his gaze to see where he’s planning to strike, but it becomes obvious rather quickly that he’s teasing her with that faux stumped expression. 

Louis looks to her and grins, quirking a suggestive brow as he picks up his queen. With a wink, he makes his move. 

It takes everything in Clementine’s power to not toss the board across the room when he gives her his signature _‘checkmate’_ sign. 

“How?” she exclaims exasperated, slamming her hands down on the table, startling Rosie from her afternoon nap beside her. “That wasn’t a legal move!”

As she’s complaining, he’s already jotted down his reply, twisting his notepad around for her to see. 

_Someone hasn’t learned anything from the last two games, have they? And yes, it was 100% legal. You’re just a sore loser, my darling._

“I am not!” 

Louis shoots her a look. 

“I’m not!” Clementine insists. “I- _you_ are cheating!”

_‘Me?’_

“You!” 

Louis places his hand over his heart, pouting his bottom lip out as far as possible and knitting his brows, sniffling. He’s such a sad sight that the corners of her mouth twitch disobediently, defying her attempt at a scowl. 

“Careful, Lou. You could trip over that lip.” 

That makes him smile. 

With a sigh, Clementine leans back to look over her defeat, arms crossed and pride only slightly wounded. The walkie talkie beside her falls over with a soft _clunk_. 

She thought she’d be good at this game full of strategy and thinking ahead, but her mind can’t get a grasp of it no matter how many times Louis tries to explain how to play and win. 

_Marlon never beat me either_ , he once wrote to her. _One time I felt so bad for him that I threw the game so he could win, but it backfired. He figured out what I did and we had to play another 3 rounds before he gave up. Wanted to beat me fair and square. Never could._

He tried something similar with her once, but Clementine could see what he was doing, too, and called him out on it. He sighed, checkmated her within two turns, and as usual, she threw a weak tantrum. He then laughed at her, placing yet another check next to his name on their scoreboard: Louis - 7 , Clementine - 0

Louis plucks his winning piece from the board and grabs her hand, placing the Queen within her palm and closing her fingers around it. He kisses the back of her fist with a warm smile, something he does every time he beats her. She’s come to learn that it’s his way of saying, _‘I’m sorry you will never beat me at chess, but for what it’s worth,_ **_you_ ** _are my queen.’_

Such a thing shouldn’t make her skin flush as much as it does. 

“One day I _will_ beat you.”

Louis nods, but it’s not as much convincing as it amused. He kisses her hand again before moving to clear off the board. Three games are enough for one day, and that she agrees with. As they clean up the table, Clementine catches him grinning to himself. She wants to ask what he’s thinking about but decides against it. 

She wasn’t sure they’d ever have moments like this after the raider’s attack, after what they did to Louis. For a while, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get to see him smile like that ever again.

Clementine still has nightmares about it. A warped world full of Louis’ sobs and Lilly’s snickers, blood all over the floor and her hands. When she tries to pry the door to Louis’ cell open, her fingers slip. The blood never goes away. She does eventually get the cell open and Louis is there, curled up in a corner, violent trembles wrecking his body as blood and drool drips from his mouth. 

Then she wakes up and Louis is beside her in their bed, alive and healed. Well, physically healed, she supposes. Those internal wounds- the mental and emotional- would scab over, but every once in a while, that scab is torn or completely ripped off and the pain comes flooding back. Never fully healed. She knew all about those scabs.

For weeks after they escaped the delta with their friends- well, most of their friends- Louis secluded himself away to the darker parts of Ericson. He wouldn’t look anyone in the eye, he wouldn’t eat in front of anyone, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him. Not Clementine, not AJ, no one. 

Clementine thought anything they had between them- the feelings, the quiet, tender moment they shared in the piano room, their first kiss- was gone, that Louis wouldn’t want her after what happened, that he wouldn’t ever forgive her. She blamed herself, even if he didn’t.

A few days after she woke up, she asked Louis to be honest with her.

_“Do you hate me?”_

And he shook his head, _‘No.’_

_“I’m so sorry, Louis, really I… could you ever forgive me?”_

And he didn’t say anything. He didn’t nod, he didn’t shake his head. He averted his gaze, stood from his chair, and pulled her blanket up to her chin. He brushed stray curls from her forehead, and then he left. 

But, he came back the next day, and the day after that. He came to see her every day while she was stuck in bed. 

The strangest part was that he would smile, but more often than not, it wasn’t real. No, it was forced, a way to trick everyone into believing he was okay, that everything was fine. 

She saw through it. Sometimes, she went along with it because it’s what he wanted. Other times, she’d confront him about it and the facade would drop and she would see him in his true state. Then he would leave, and she couldn’t follow. She couldn’t walk, and she didn’t call after him. 

After that torture, the mutilation, Louis lost a chunk of himself that Clementine wasn’t ever sure could be filled again. On top of it all, Louis lost two of his best friends within weeks of each other and nearly lost Clementine herself. 

Even she’s surprised she survived the impromptu amputation performed by AJ in that walker infested barn. She woke up hours later without a leg and a sense of relief that she was actually dead and at peace, but the pain swelling in her knee and burning through her body told her otherwise. If that wasn’t convincing enough, AJ and Louis’ hugs and cries were. 

It wasn’t easy getting on with their lives; dealing with Violet’s death, thinking Tenn was dead, the loss of Louis’ voice and her leg, it all added up and waking each morning became a chore. 

Then Tenn came home, and Clementine got out of bed. 

Louis helped her walk to Violet’s grave to pay her respects in the form of freshly picked flowers, and as they stood there, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. It was the first time he reached out to her since she first woke up, and what was more surprising, he sat down at the table with her and everyone else. 

He ate little, whether it was due to the pain he still felt while healing or his self-consciousness about the whole thing, Clementine didn’t know. She didn’t ask, she was just happy to see him eating something after weeks of not knowing if he was or if he could. 

Then he smiled. A _real_ smile, right at AJ, before smiling at her. 

Even now, Clementine can remember it as clear as day. Louis smiled at her, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a piece of folded paper. He handed it to her, and she read it. 

_Clementine,_

_Do you know why lobsters never share? Well, it’s because they’re SHELLFISH!_

_Sorry, I wanted to lighten the mood before I got serious._

_What happened wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you for anything and I can’t even begin to explain how happy I am that you are alive. I was so scared after you and AJ came back and what happened to Vi and Tenn. I will do everything I can to help you through this, Clem. You’re my best friend and I need you and everyone here. We need each other._

_I’m not okay, but I will be. I want to be, but it’s hard. I want to be better._

_I was also hoping that maybe you’d be my girlfriend? We never really made it official before, but seeing you wake up after thinking you were dead, I know that I still want to give this a try if you’ll have me._

_-Louis_

That was years ago, and everything’s better. 

Not perfect, but it’s home. 

The school no longer went by Ericson, but Castle Violet, in dedication to their friend who sacrificed herself to save Tenn’s life. They rebuilt several parts that burned down in the past, cleared out restricted areas for use, and now have a thriving rabbit farm next to the well-working greenhouse. 

Ruby and Aasim are still together, living in the same dorm room now. While they don’t necessarily have a “leader” these days, Aasim is the closest thing they have to one of those with Clementine as his second in command. 

Ruby, believe it or not, has spent a vast amount of her time working on a proper prosthetic for Clementine since Willy and AJ’s left a lot more to be desired. 

Omar still plays his role as the main chef, though he’s also taken to caring for the greenhouse and rabbit farm alongside Aasim and Ruby. All the while, he’s the one who found old sign language books, tutoring Louis, himself, and the rest of them to help further Louis’ communication process. For that, Clementine will always be thankful. 

Willy took on all the repairs around the school, as well as bomb preparation- in case of emergencies, he claimed- weaponry, and fixing up a set of four walkie talkies for them all to use to keep in touch throughout the school and outside the walls. 

As for AJ, he’s grown up. It’s hard to look at him and remember he’s only nine-years-old. For so long, Clementine worried about who he was growing up to be, whether he could make good choices or not, if he knew when it was right to pull the trigger or not. He’s proved himself to her time and time again, and learned to trust him.

Then there’s Tenn, who now knows how to shoot a gun properly thanks to careful training from her and AJ, and he’s capable enough to handle himself out on hunts and scavenges. In fact, today’s his first day out by himself. Well, him and Rosie. 

Clementine glances at the walkie talkie beside her. Now that she thinks about it, Tenn hasn’t radioed her all day. God, she hopes he didn’t forget to take the other one with him. The whole point of Willy fixing these things up was so that they could have a line of communication from outside to the school. 

She’s sure he’s fine, but that doesn’t stop her from worrying. It is Tenn, after all. 

Louis hums, slipping the cover over the box containing the chess game and tucks it away. Clementine recognizes the song, one that he does when he’s content. Standing from his spot, box in hand, he kisses her cheek as he moves past her to put the game away. 

Clementine snatches his free hand, pulling Louis back for a proper kiss. He smiles against her lips, a chuckle building in his throat. The grin remains even when they pull away, even as he rolls his eyes and gives a playful pinch of her cheek. 

“Stop,” she giggles, smacking his hand away. 

He laughs, leaving her to put the chess game back where it belongs. 

Clementine shifts and the walkie talkie beside her falls back over on the table. Static breaks through, stuttering, but loud enough for her to take notice. 

_“Clem? Clem? Are you-”_

“Tenn?” Clementine speaks into the walkie, thumb pressed painfully against the red button on the side. “Tenn, are you okay?”

_“I-”_ a break. _“I-I have wounded- they-”_

Maybe it’s the effect of the walkie, but Tenn’s voice stutters with a dreadful alarm. 

Louis grips her shoulder, leaning down to hear the walkie better. The worry that furrows his brow matches her own. 

“Tenn, where are you?” 

_“Fishing shack- We’re in the fishing shack. There are walkers-”_ his voice is clear now, but there’s something behind his voice, the voice of another speaking. _“There was a man- I-”_

A pause.

“Tenn? Who’s with you? Are you okay?”

Silence.

“Tenn?”


	3. [the old-timey riverboat]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for all the positive feedback on this story! :D

Through the crack of the walker’s skull, blood oozes dark, dripping down the handle of the hatchet and onto his hand. Cold, clotted, and disgusting. 

Hugo pushes the dead walker down with a huff just as Isabel finishes off the last one a few steps away. 

They’re repulsive, the walkers. Even now, Hugo can’t over their decaying stench and peeling flesh. These walkers, in particular, are more disgusting- fresher walkers usually are. 

Older walkers- years and years older- are slower, nothing but leathery skin and bone, weak from muscle deterioration and perhaps even hunger. 

Newer walkers are what scare Hugo. Not only are the remains of a humane appearance more present, but they’re stronger, quicker, _hungrier_. 

Killing them is such a normal thing now, he thinks. It’s easier when he considers it as a _prevention_ of more chaos with every walker he kills. One less fresh walker. One less to wander around and devour innocent, unsuspecting survivors. There’s been too much of that. 

“All clear,” Isabel says, wiping her knife off on the dirty rag attached to her belt. “Can we make this quick?” 

Up close on the pier, the boat is an absolute wreck. Stray pieces of wood jut out of the water, metal stuck swaying with the waves, knocking into the boat. From what he can see, there isn’t a safe enough way for him to climb inside. 

“Yep, it’s terrible. A real mess,” Isabel says. “Worst boat I’ve ever stood before in my life.”

Hugo raises a brow, elbowing her with a smirk. 

“Worse than _The Nauti Buoy_?”

Isabel wrinkles her nose. “Ugh. I hated that damn thing.”

_The Nauti Buoy_ was the clever name of his brother’s boat, one Stephen prided himself on, even though he stole the name from another boat he came across in his travels to pass off as his own. 

Hugo used to say, “You know how people end up looking like their animals? Well, Stephen looks like his boat.”

Gaudy decor inside and out, painted a terrible antique gold color, much bigger than necessary. 

Well, he thought so at the time. After Stephen’s second divorce, he ended up living in the damn thing. Oh, how proud their mother was. At least he was able to keep his prized watch collection safe and secure, because that’s all that _really_ mattered. 

Hugo only ever brought his family onto that boat once. Isabel grew so sick an hour in that they had to turn the damn thing around and head back to shore. 

Not Louis, though. 

Louis loved being on that boat. Not once did he ever get sick, except Hugo had to warn him about leaning too far over the railing to get a better look at the dolphins he spotted. Nearly fell overboard and gave Hugo a heart attack. 

Seeing Louis’ glowing face as he marveled at the waves and salty air was what inspired Hugo to invest in a boat of his own. 

Louis named it Gus. 

Didn’t really have a reason, he just thought the boat looked like a Gus. 

Hugo smiles. 

“It wasn’t that bad, just ugly,” he says. “What do you think happened?.” 

“I told you, someone blew it to shit,” Isabel says. “What exactly are you expecting to find?”

“Something useful,” Hugo kneels down, pressing a hand against the boat to steady himself as he leans in through a gaping hole. “Clothes, weapons, maybe food.”

“Hey, careful-”

“Look, through there? I can see a couple of crates floating inside. Worth checking out. Here, why don't you go check along the shore, I’ll see if I can grab one.”

“How about I stay right here and help you? I know you’re gonna fall in and I’ll have to fish you out.” 

“I’m not gonna fall in,” Hugo rolls his eyes. “Have some faith in me.”

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, Hugh,” Isabel frowns. “I’d just rather prevent a disaster than try and fix one. Who knows what’s lurking around in these waters.”

“What, you think a shark’s going to gobble me up?”

“No, a walker,” Isabel kneels down beside him. “They can move under there much better than we can, and they don’t gotta breathe. If this ship crashed, odds are there were people on it who were thrown into the water. Hence, _walkers_.”

Well, damn, he hadn’t thought of that. Leaning over the edge, Hugo squints. The water’s pretty mucky, so he can’t tell how deep it is or what the bottom holds. 

“I could out swim a walker, but to put your mind at ease-,” Isabel scoffs “-I’ll look around here some more and see if I can find something to pull the crates closer while you go search the shore, then we can pull the crates out together.” 

“Y’know there’s probably nothing in them but useless, sodden supplies, right?” Isabel says, “I mean, I doubt this was some sort of battleship that carried weapons and first aid. Hell, it probably carried toy cars or something.”

“Toy cars?” Hugo laughs. “If that’s the case, then your little friend won’t need to ride around in your bag anymore. He can drive right beside us.”

“You’re not funny.”

“No?” Hugo smirks. “I’m a little funny, c’mon. Geoff driving around in a little car? Honking at the squirrels? Flippin’ me the bird every chance he gets? Hilarious.” 

With an exasperated shake of her head, Isabel turns on her heels towards the shoreline, saying, “Fine, I’ll walk around. Don’t touch those crates until I get back because I swear if you fall in-”

“I’m not going to fall in,” Hugo calls after her. “I’m as coordinated as the most athletic breed of... _cat_!” Cats are coordinated, right? 

He wouldn’t know, he never owned one. 

He _wishes_ he owned a cat, but Louis insisted on a damn turtle. 

Isabel snorts a chuckle. “Yeah, okay!” 

“You doubt me?”

“I doubt you.”

“Madam, now you’ve wounded me!” 

“You’ll live.”

“Hey, while you’re over there, let Geoff go for a swim, too! He hasn’t done that in a while. He can scout for water walkers.” 

That earns him Isabel’s lovely middle finger. He presses a hand against his chest, pushing his lip out in a pretend pout. 

“Once again, she chooses the turtle over me.”

That makes Isabel laugh, shaking her head and giving a dismissive wave. “We meet back in five!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Hugo watches her briefly, taking in the sight of her walking along the shore, stepping over pieces of broken wood and rocks. Her loose top flutters with the rustling wind against the curve of her waist and a strange tingle of emotion cause him to pause.

A lifetime ago, Hugo and Isabel walked along a beach. 

Much cleaner than this one with a much prettier sight. Along the shores of Makena Beach, they walked together barefoot. Isabel wore a dress she bought in one of the shops, one that fluttered in the wind the same exact way her shirt does now. 

She was young, her hair long, curls big and windblown.

Pregnant, about seven weeks along.

“Shit,” Hugo mumbles. 

He wonders what the state of Hawaii is, if their walker population is great or not. 

Not that it matters. 

There’s no way he’ll make it to those shores ever again, much less walk along them with Isabel and Louis. 

He always thought about bringing Louis back there, too. 

After he graduated high school, Hugo wanted to bring him to look at the colleges. He’d get into the best school they had to offer, of course, because Louis was a straight A student- when properly motivated- and there he’d get his degree while studying the culture and history of Hawaii and its people, land a damn good job and make a name for himself. 

He can just see his boy now. Tall and handsome with his mother’s eyes and a beautiful smile... happy and satisfied with his life. 

Louis would fall in love with a pretty girl, propose to her, and have a gorgeous wedding on the beach. They’d have a handful of kids, too. Hugo would be more than happy to become a grandfather. 

A grandfather... babysitting Louis’ children while he and his lovely wife went out on date nights...

Hugo rubs his eyes along the sleeve of his shirt, sighing. 

Nostalgic for what never was, he supposes. 

They need to find that school, Hugo thinks. No matter what, once they’re done here- after they’ve scavenged some useful supplies- they’ll head back to the train station to look for a map. 

They couldn't find one earlier, but maybe they didn’t look hard enough. They only really looked around to make sure it wasn’t someone else’s home, then headed back this way to check out the wreckage Hugo spotted. 

They have to be close, closer than they’ve ever been. From the faintest part of his memory, he remembers the road being long and yet hard to find. He had to pay attention to the road signs, but his concentration was more than unfocused with Louis silently fuming in the backseat. 

_“You’re only staying for a year, or until we can... until we can sort some things out.”_

_“...”  
_

_“You’ll have a dorm with a roommate. Mr. Davidson told me he’s a good kid, he just... fell down a wrong path, so I don’t want to get any calls about you mistreating him.”_

_“...”  
_

_“This isn’t going to be like your other school. You will be respectful to your roommate, your classmates, and your teachers. No excuses, no exceptions. Understand?”  
_

_“...”  
_

_“Louis, answer me when I’m talking to you.”  
_

_“...”_

Hugo glances back at the boat. 

He hopes there’s something to gain from doing this, but at the very least, he got to see an old-timey riverboat like this up close. Little things..

Hugo pays another look to Isabel as she inspects a piece of soggy wood before pushing away from the boat to move along the pier. Over the edge, the corner of what looks to be a crate sticks up. Dropping down to his knees with a slight wince- damn leg!- Hugo rolls up his sleeves, sinking his hands in the chilled water. 

Thoughts of the cool waves crashing against the shores of Makena Beach haunt him, memories of swimming and laughing and kissing-

“Shit,” Hugo finds a good grip on the crate and yanks. “Knock it off-”

It barely budges, caught on something. 

He tries again, grunting at the horrible pull in his back. A shock jolts through his bad leg, making him bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from yelping. Letting go, he adjusts his position.

“There’s nothing over here!” Isabel calls. “Just garbage!”

With a better, firmer grip, Hugo pulls. The crate loosens, lifting up out of the water. 

“Damn it…” Hugo gives an exasperated sigh. 

It’s empty and broken, it’s bottom missing. Whatever goods filled it are nowhere to be found. 

“Damn, damn, damn,” he mutters, standing to rub his dripping hands along his pants, kicking the useless crate back into the water. “Double damn.” 

He opens his mouth to shout out a complain, but sees Isabel down closer to the water, her open bag beside her. Grinning to herself, she holds onto Geoff as he moves through the water. 

Hugo thinks to make a joke both to tease her and make himself feel better about his lack of findings, but decides against it. Instead, he soaks in the sight of her content smile. 

Moving along the pier, he calls out, “Hey, got a question for you!”

“No!” 

Hugo laughs.

“You ever think about growing your hair out again?”

Isabel’s face scrunches up in a way that tells Hugo that’s a dumb question, nearly losing her grip on Geoff. 

“You seriously asking me that?” she shakes her head. “Hair like that is nothing but a death trap! Remember back in Peach Creek? Damn walker nearly took a chunk out of my neck! Not only that, but it got its nasty fingers all stuck in it and there was skin and puss and- _ugh_!”

“Oh shit, that’s right,” Hugo grunts, bending back down along the hardwood to fish out a piece of clothing- a sleeve of a denim jacket. “That was a nice place.”

A nice place, indeed, but one of many that almost killed them.

One of the worst moments in their lives happened while staying with the group at the Peach Creek Clinic. 

The people there were sympathetic to their dire situation. After losing their vehicle to a bunch of selfish assholes, barely having anything to their names aside from pictures of Louis and his clothes, the group took them in. 

It seemed secure at the time, with a small group and plenty of medical supplies. Scarce food, though. Hugo and Isabel might’ve stayed there longer but anxiousness about getting to West Virginia sent them back on the road after another incident with walkers breaking in. 

Half the group perished during that attack. They’re both lucky Hugo was there to take care of the walker before it got to her, but he couldn’t stop it from getting it’s fingers stuck and tangled in Isabel’s curls. 

She was hysterical, tears dripping down her bruised cheeks as Hugo cut out chunks of hair to get the damn hand out. Bodies of their fallen friends surrounded them, and he thought they both might pass out.

When he tried to pick out the remaining pieces of rotten flesh and bone all while attempting to comfort her, Isabel insisted that they just cut it all off. 

One of the survivors- shit, what was her name? Yolanda, maybe? Rhonda?- did a nice, clean shave of her head. Short and close to her scalp, nothing for anyone to grab. 

They left the next morning. The survivors at the clinic were understanding and kind enough to send them with a bag of medical supplies they were able to spare, and fish food for Geoff, since all the fish within the lobby tank was no longer around. 

Through the shallow water closer to shore, the falling sunlight gleams off of something stuck in the sand. 

“Ah-ha!” Hugo grins, ignoring the pain in his knee as he shifts into a better position. Rolling up his sleeve, he reaches in to dig through the mushy sand. His thumb brushes something firm. 

“Why?” Isabel asks, kicking at another piece of wood on her way back towards the pier. Geoff drips in her hands, merry after spending time in the water. “What brought that on?”

“Was thinking about Hawaii,” Hugo winces, leaning further down into the water, fully submerging his arm. 

“Hawa- Hey! What are you doing-?”

“Ah!” Hugo flings himself back, victorious with a muddy knife in his hand. “Ah-ha! Got it!” 

“Huh, look at that,” Isabel says. 

“Told’ja we’d find something useful. You can never have too many knives,” Hugo grins, pulling a rag from his pocket to wipe the mud away. With a dull, scratched to hell blade, the knife will be just as effective in killing walkers as any other weapon. 

“Well, I’ll give it to you,” Isabel says, “a knife is much more than what I found over there.”

“Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough,” Hugo smirks, which dies when he notices Geoff's perpetual glare fixated on him. A childish impulse to stick his tongue out at the damned creature overwhelms him. He bites it back and returns the glare.

“That’s not long enough to help us grab the crates.”

“There wasn’t anything over there?”

"A couple planks of wood,” Isabel shrugs. 

“We don’t need anything fancy, just something long enough to push the crates towards us.”

Isabel looks to the bright sky, searching for any sign of evening coming upon them. They have plenty of daylight left, but Isabel’s patience is running out, replaced with anxiety. She sets Geoff down on the ground. 

“Watch him, I’ll grab the one I was looking at.” 

“Watch him?” Hugo frowns, pointing at Geoff with his brand new knife. “Where’s he gonna go?”

Geoff glowers up at him, beady black eyes slitted and neck extended up towards him. 

Hugo leans down, whispering, “Hey buddy, have you ever heard of _caouane_ , by chance?”

\---

They’re a cheery duo, ain’t they?

Thomas smirks. 

Hidden among the greens with a shoulder leaning against the sticky bark of a tree, Thomas listens to their bickering. Can’t make out much, unfortunately, but he’s got the gist. Almost reminds him of how he and Julie would talk long ago. Julie was meaner than the girl- what the hell is that she’s carrying?- but that don’t matter now. 

Julie’s dead and it’s just Thomas and the beauty in his hand, fully loaded and itchin’ to be fired. 

Not that he’s going to go up and shoot the strangers. 

They ain’t dangerous from what he can tell- the girl’s got a fire in her but the man’s got a limp. 

He don’t know what they’re looking for in the wreckage. Maybe they’re hoping to find some of the kids, but there’s no way this is where they’d hide. No, those kids got ‘em selves a school around here somewhere, even if he and these two don’t know where it is.

But, from the sounds of it, they got an idea and sometimes, that’s enough. 

Thomas knows that if he scours these woods long enough, he’ll find the school. The problem is would he find it before these two did? He don’t know how many kids there’ll be, but he knows that if they got two capable adults on their side, then things won’t go as smoothly.

Especially if these two actually find _their_ kid.

Thomas scoffs. 

Bunch of twits. 

What makes ‘em think they got a chance of seeing their kid again? He’d bet his lucky dollar that their kid is roaming around here as one of the dead if he’s not already in a shallow grave.

Hell, maybe they will find him. Their little baby boy, gaunt, rotten insides with hollow eyes and a hunger for flesh… charging at them with not an ounce of recognition… and even as they’re begging him to stop, screaming, _“Stop, it’s us! It’s your mommy and daddy, son! Remember us? Remember us-”_

No, he don’t remember nothing. The dead don’t remember.

The kid’ll just keep scurrying towards ‘em… arms held out and jaw slack. 

Maybe they’ll be so distraught that they just let their kid chew ‘em both up.

Together. Undead.

The gun is heavy in his hand. 

Quiet laughter.

Thomas, fingers wrapped painfully tight around his gun, squints back over at the pier.

They’re trying to get something out of the wreckage, using a long chunk of wood to do so. Thomas leans up, attempting to get a better look at ‘em. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out an old pair of glasses. Not his prescription, but he ain’t the picky type. Though they’ll bring on a mean headache later, they help him get a better look at the couple still struggling to get something out of the boat. 

Down on their hands and knees, they work together to fish out whatever’s in there all while engaging in jovial chatter.

Pretty girl, Thomas thinks. Real nice shape. 

Times like these he wishes he’d find himself a pair of binoculars. 

Raspy groans emit from his right. A pair of walkers trod along, interested in all the commotion being made along the shore. 

Just in time. 

More’ll be coming here pretty quick- he saw a whole handful of them about a mile away, mingling together in search of something to tear their teeth into. He whistled at ‘em, then took off back to where he is now. He’s lucky these two ain’t quick in their accomplishments. 

A walker- male, wearing a heavy coat and missing his left eye- hisses through his unhinged jaw as he crawls closer to where Thomas hides. 

He ain’t worried about it. The more walkers that come, the better. 

Ducking down lower, ignoring the age-old ache forever lining his back, he moves closer. Already the strain of his sight through the glasses brings on a fuzzy twinge behind his right eye. 

“I got it, just need to-”

“Careful-”

Behind this tree, he can actually make out most of what they’re saying now.

“On three, alright?” the man says. 

Together, they grunt out, “One… two… three!”

Thomas almost applauds. They managed to find something in the wreckage, and from the looks of it, that something is a crate. Well, he’ll be darned. 

What else could be floating around in that thing? Thomas never paid it much mind upon first discovery- he wasn’t ever going to explore it. Not worth getting his boots wet, that’s for damn sure. 

Also, he ain’t the best swimmer. 

Let ‘em do the grunt work. He can come back and look through it later. 

“See?” The man says, resting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Fully intact.”

“Don’t celebrate until we get it open.” 

“Really eager to see these toy cars, huh?” 

“If there are actually toy cars in here, I’m going to strangle you.” 

The man laughs, throwing a playful elbow towards the girl’s shoulder. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Thomas raises an interested brow. 

“Don’t be gross,” the girl laughs. 

“You’re right, sorry. I wouldn’t want to talk dirty in front of Geoff.”

Geoff? There ain’t no one else around...

“As if we haven’t scarred him enough in the past,” the man adds.

“Just shut up and open the damn thing so we can go.”

Another gurgle, this time closer. Thomas slinks back further into the bushes, breathing slowly, silently. He’s confident none of the walkers’ll find him. They’re as stupid as dirt with no actual hunting skills, thankfully. 

Thomas can’t imagine anyone would’ve made it as far as they have if the damned dead were smarter than the living. 

Then again, lots of folks _are_ dead. 

Grabbing a heavy-duty rock from beside his foot, Thomas eyes the walkers moving past him. They’re foul, both in appearance and odor. Looks like they got torn apart real good when alive, too, given their shredded clothes and chunks of flesh torn from their arms and waist. 

The one-eyed walker crawls past.

What a way to go, Thomas thinks as he chucks the rock towards the shore, sending it crashing into one of the larger boulders with an echoing crack.

It draws everyone's attention, the walkers practically wheezing with glee- well, Thomas likes to imagine they’re gleeful to have something to sniff out.

The couple jumping to their feet. 

“Ah, fuck!”

“What the hell was- Oh shit-!” 

The walkers approach the shore, quicker now that they have a meal to pursue. 

Thomas checks the chamber of his fully loaded gun. 

\---

Hugo almost had it. 

With his knife jammed along the side of the lid, he was ready to pop it off victoriously.

A startling crack broke his concentration, causing him to lose his grip. The knife slips from the crack and jerks, slicing into the muscle below his thumb.

“Ah, fuck!” Hugo cries out, dropping the knife to cradle his bleeding hand. Blistering pain shocks through his fingers and up his arm. 

“What the hell was- Oh shit-” Isabel reaches out for his arm, holding on with a death grip. “Walkers!” 

“ _What_?” 

The crate before him forgotten, Hugo whips around.

A group of walkers head down the shore, each groaning and moving as fast as their decaying bodies can carry them. 

_What?_

Where the hell did they come from? They made sure to scour the woods from the train station to the boat and take care of any straggling walkers that stood in their way. There weren’t that many. The most they had to deal with were along the shores. 

“There wasn’t a single walker for miles,” Hugo exclaims. “Where the hell did they come from?”

“Don’t know,” Isabel says, staring up at him with wide eyes. She does a double-take when she notices the blood dripping from his hand. “Oh my god, Hugh, what the hell?”

“I’m fine, I slipped. It's just a scratch-”

“A _scratch_? Seriously?” She grabs his hand, inspecting the wound with wide eyes. "Bullshit, a scratch!"

“Forget it,” Hugo grabs the rag from his belt and ties it around his hand. “There’s only five of them. Nothing we can’t handle-”

“There isn’t only five, look!”

She’s not wrong- on their right, more come hobbling out of the woods. 

Hugo looks from the approaching walkers, down to the unopened crate, down to his bleeding hand. He winces, picking his knife back up. 

“We can handle them.”

“We could handle them if they didn’t already see us!”

“I’ll take the ones on the left-”

“Hugh, we gotta go! Forget the damn crates, they’re not worth dying for. Not now!”

Damn it...

"We're not risking everything!"

She pulls him forward with her down the pier, their boots clanking loudly against the worn wood, making the walkers perk up more. 

Isabel jumps over the side, splashing in the shallow water in hopes of cutting across the shore and into the woods before the walkers get any closer. An easy plan Hugo could follow if it weren’t for the three walkers emerging from their intended destination, blocking their path.

A nasty growl from his right sent Hugo whipping around. A walker- a woman with an exposed neck and chest cavity, missing clumps of hair from beneath her hat- hurries towards him. 

Fuck it. 

Hugo surges forward, grabbing the sticky bones of the walker's throat. The knife plunges through the side of its head with ease, and the walker falls to the ground. Hugo lets out a shaky breath, grunting out at the searing pain throbbing in his hand, painful enough to cause spots in his vision. 

“Hugo, I swear to _Christ_ \- don’t you dare get that hand-” Isabel kicks the shin of another walker. It falls to its knees, the perfect height for her to stab it through the head before sending the limp body crashing into yet another walker. A chain reaction of the force causes three of the walkers to fall back. 

“Use your gun,” Isabel tells him, attacking those fallen monsters as fast as she can.

“That’ll just attract more!” 

“So what? Kill these bastards so we can make a run for it!”

That’s assuming that he can successfully kill _all_ of them, which he can’t with his last five bullets. 

There’s more than five left. 

More than ten, maybe. 

He can’t count. 

Where the fuck did they come from? He _knows_ they weren't loud enough to attract this many. 

A walker with one eye crawls along the sand, grabbing at his ankle to gnaw on his boot. This knife breaks its skull with a sickening crack, the odor enough to churn his stomach. 

“Hugo, now!” Isabel shouts, stabbing another walker and pushing through. 

Hugo tries to follow. 

Even in its final death, the walker's grip remains strong on his ankle. He stumbles right into the grip of a heavyset walker, this one much younger, _fresher_ compared to the decaying monsters- _stronger_.

A full set of rotten teeth snap at him. With his forearm pressed firmly against the chest of the monster, Hugo reaches back to grab his gun from its holster.

The shot rings in his ears, rattling his brain as gore explodes through the back of the walkers head. The earth swerves beneath his feet, acids in his stomach rise into his throat. He coughs, spitting into the dirt. 

Through nausea, Hugo aims. 

Another two shots- two walkers fall to the ground, motionless. 

A third. 

A fourth- _fuck._

Hugo lets off his final shot, hitting a walker struggling with Isabel. Seeing it’s no longer a threat, Isabel grabs onto it, heaving it towards another and sending them crashing. She’s by his side again, huffing, “Let’s go!”

Hugo nods.

He has no idea where the fuck these things came from, or how they showed up so suddenly, but he knows she’s right- whatever the hell is in that crate isn’t worth there lives, not when they’re so close-

“Shit!”

A hand grabs his backpack, jerking him backward. The foul stench of the walker's breath warms his ear and everything within Hugo runs cold. He throws an elbow, twisting himself around in the walker's embrace. 

He doesn’t see the fallen walker behind him. 

They both tumble to the ground. The gun slips out of his grip. 

“Hugo!”

A sixth shot.

The walker's blood splatters across Hugo’s face, and for a moment, he thinks he’s dead. The body slouches over him, unmoving. 

A seventh shot- an eighth- 

Isabel grabs the walker by its shirt, hauling it off of him before dropping to her knees. Her hands move all over him as she gasps out, “Holy shit, please, oh please, tell me you’re okay!” 

Several more shots fire, and one by one, the remaining walkers fall. 

Then there’s silence. 

Hugo reaches for his gun, scooping it up from the dirt before Isabel helps him up. He falls forward onto his bad knee. 

“Augh!”

“Sorry- c’mon-!”

Finally on his feet, Hugo surveys the area. 

All the dead are just that- fallen on the ground. 

“Are-” Hugo coughs “-are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Isabel shakes her head, narrowed eyes darting all around the forest. “Pissed off, but fine.” Without taking her sight off the forest, she slips her backpack off to glance inside. “Geoff’s okay, too.”

Terrific.

Because Hugo was so worried. 

Isabel leans down, whispering, “Hugh… someone’s here.”

He assumed so. 

The walkers didn’t shoot themselves. 

“Give me your gun.”

Hugo cocks his head to murmur in her ear, “We’re out of bullets.”

“He doesn’t know that.” 

The snapping of wood and rubber against rocks turns their attention back to the woods where a man walks out, waving over at them with a grin.

“Howdy!” he calls out, voice gruff and accent thick. 

Isabel snatches the gun from his hand before Hugo has a chance to protest, pointing it and stopping the man in his tracks. 

“That’s close enough!” 

“Woah, woah,” the man holds his hands up in surrender, though keeps his grip on his gun just as tight. 

“Belle-” Hugo warns, but the man chuckles lightly. 

“Didn’t mean to scare ya. I mean no harm! Heard the gunshots and saw y’all were havin’ some trouble, thought I’d lend a helpin’ hand. You folks alright?” 

Isabel doesn’t lower the gun, keeping her eyes fixated on the man as he cautiously continues to walk over.

“We’re fine,” Hugo answers. “Fine, no bites, just a little startled. Thanks for the help.”

“We could’ve handled it,” Isabel adds. “Thanks.”

The man nods, saying, “No, you look plenty capable, didn’t mean to say ya don’t. Just didn’t want to see any more folks die, y’know? Not when I could do the decent thing and help.”

He’s close now, close enough for Hugo to better make out the details of his graying, ginger beard and bald head. He pulls his glasses off and pockets them with his free hand, blinking rapidly as he grins. 

“Name’s Thomas,” he greets. “Nice to meet’cha.”


End file.
